


No More Escape

by Needle_Bones



Series: Goretober Challenge [1]
Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, goretober
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-23 01:57:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3750640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Needle_Bones/pseuds/Needle_Bones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I may be trying to do the Goretober thing with quick-and-bloody Outlast fics.</p>
<p>[Day One - Excessive Gashes/Lacerations]</p>
            </blockquote>





	No More Escape

He should have known that board wasn't going to support his weight. He should have known better than to turn down that hallway. He should have known better than to take this assignment at all.

Now, dizzy and aching, Miles limped down the hallway, leaning heavily on one cracked, blood-splattered wall. He couldn't breathe right, blood bubbling between his teeth with each shaky exhale. The world swam and suddenly his legs wouldn't support him anymore. He should have guessed he wouldn't be able to make it far. Grit didn't count for much in here and a twelve foot drop onto rusted metal instruments – likely thrown down by the patients not long after the initial outbreak – did not carry much chance of walking away unscathed. If one walked away at all.

The reporter twisted just enough to see the hallway, casting his flickering gaze over the splintered tile. The way he'd come from was painted a deep, ugly red with cooling blood.

Miles closed his eyes as the chill hit him. When he forced them open again, the nausea set in. He hadn't dared to really see the damage the fall had done until now. The jagged metal had cut in bone-deep, leaving yawning wounds stuffed with sickly yellow. The gashes covered his legs, turning his torn jeans near-black, before wrapping up his body. Two cracked ribs shifted, exposed, on the left side of his ribcage with every breath. His right arm was ripped to shreds, skin hanging loose where his sleeve had been torn away. The tendons in his hand caught the light and the bile seared his throat, mixing with copper and salt.

The edges of a wound wrapping around his thigh were ragged to the touch. Out of sheer shock and morbid curiosity, he let his fingers slip inside and press on the hard surface of cracked bone. The sides were warm and stuck to his skin, sparking hot needles down his leg. He pulled his hand back with a bitten-down scream.

The adrenaline was cutting off now and Miles was starting to shake, curling in on himself like a dying spider. After all of his time in that hellish asylum, this was what took him down. Just a simple misstep. He couldn't run like this. The only consolation was that he'd bleed out before too much longer. At the very least he wouldn't have to see what they might do to him.

Somewhere down the hallway, swallowed up by the darkness, there were sounds. Heavy footsteps, and chains, and the occasional metallic scream of rusted blades. Hunters always took the weak and wounded first, after all.

And it was so loud.

He let his head fall back, feeling the shake in the floor as whatever had sniffed him out moved closer. The lights overhead were blinding, needling a headache he hadn't bothered to notice until then. A ringing in his ears began to drown out the world and Miles closed his eyes. Spending his last few minutes in the darkness didn't matter much to him by then.

Far off to his left, someone laughed. Miles felt his heart skipping under his ribs now, trying to do too much with too little. The pain was fading, his ruined body going numb and cold. Dimly, he heard the chains some to a rattling stop.

“Little Pig.” Chris stood a few feet from him, there the harsh fluorescent light was quietly eaten away by the darkness. To Miles' dying gaze, he may have looked just the faintest bit sorry to see him like this. “No more escape.”


End file.
